TGIF Throwout

Welcome,
Another week gone by, another weekly throw out. Next week I will likely post on Tuesday, if I post at all. I will be headed to Wisconsin for some Wenchy fun. I cant wait to finally meet the ladies of the Word Wenches, especially Jennifer, whom has become one of my besties over the past few months. There shall be a post the week of July 20th then the next week I am going camping, so I will try to squeeze one in before that as well, but no guarantees.


This weeks post is more of Those Girls. I pray that the ladies the characters are based after know which is which by now. The situations are fictitious, but the main characters impressions of them come strait from the heart. True to form, these ladies already know how I feel about them, so this is nothing new. I just hope to do them justice.


Enjoy :)


The Last Adventures of Those Girls




The nights entertainment is a funk band and before too long we are all sweaty on the dance floor. Finleigh has caught her second wind and is now commanding all of the male attention within a thirty foot radius around us. I smile as she bates her favorite on to the floor and watch the others dejectedly pair off with other ladies.


I am fascinated by Finleigh, always have been.  The woman can light up a room simply by entering.  Her aura is like gravity, she attracts everyone in her presence. Watching her move through the bar, you can see the heads turn to follow her. Her petite frame demands attention, curving in all the right places. She tosses her chestnut hair over her soft shoulder, winking one of her deep brown eyes at the man of her choice, and they are instantly hooked. She drips sex and voodoo, and everyone is under her spell.


Our group decides it is time for a change of venue and we all head out to the car. Finleigh leaves her dejected beau at the door and we all pile into our frumpy sedan. As Caroline and Tegan fight endlessly about nothing in the back seat of the rental, I take in the lights of the strip. I could stare at the riot of color all night and not get sick of it. Ivy drives along humming lightly to herself a Bob Marley tune. She looks serene as we make our way to the Wynn to see what is happening at Club XS.


AS far as my friends go Ivy is the biggest mystery. A ringlet of fire red hair falls out of her messy bun, coaxed by the wind. She giggles and pushes it behind her ear, exposing her perfectly pure alabaster skin once more.  I wish she could see how beautiful she is through my eyes.  I have never met anyone so innately positive, and infectiously happy before. Her beautiful brown eyes can see right through any tough exterior strait to a person’s soul and find that one spark of goodness. It is a talent I have always envied and never could emulate. Ivy turns to me, motioning up Las Vegas Boulevard to the Wynn. The line snakes down the sidewalk. I huff out an exasperated sigh. 


The valet tears away with the rental and Tegan curses at him in his wake. I could care less about the 2005 Hundai accent that we ended up with after some “high roller” bribed the rental place for our convertible, but evidently, Tegan decided that it was time to be responsible. We start walking past the velvet ropes, heading toward the end of the line, when the bouncer whistles claiming our attention. We whirl in the direction of the ear piercing noise to see Caroline and Finleigh standing in the embrace of a slimy looking man in a designer suit. The creeper, who can only be described as the spitting image of  Steve Buscemi’s Mr. Pink from Reservoir dogs, eyes us greedily as we approach. The look makes me want to go home and shower, but I shrug it off and follow Ivy back toward the front of the line.  Angry glares follow us as we pass through the ropes, but we hold our heads high. If I know anything about my friends, Mr. Pink here will be ditched within five minutes.
True to form the second we pass through the doors, Fin pops up on her toes and kisses the man on the cheek before immediately towing us all to the far end of the dance floor.  Mischief managed. 


****
Until next week. Nameste

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